


I'm With Stoopid

by pillage_and_lute



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Christmas fic, Fluff, M/M, idk what this is, its cute tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:28:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27749755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pillage_and_lute/pseuds/pillage_and_lute
Summary: Based off of thisthisamazing post by @punk-jaskier tumblr. Cutesy fluffy christmas fic.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 5
Kudos: 86





	I'm With Stoopid

“Vesemir, I can’t wear this.”

“Family Christmas photo Geralt, you’ll wear it and smile.” Vesemir didn’t even look up from his book. Around him his boys were all looking into gift bags, dismayed. The family Christmas photo was taken every year without fail, no ifs ands or buts. On Christmas Eve all the boys got matching shirts, the one gift they were allowed to open. 

Now, although they were all grown, the tradition carried on.

“Vesemir, I’m literally getting my PHD in the spring,” Eskel complained.

“Yeah,” Lambert responded, crunching up a candy cane obnoxiously between his teeth. “In the spring you’re officially a Pretentious Haughty Dipshit.”

“Am not, Lambert, take it back.”

The two began to wrestle. Geralt looked up at Vesemir. 

“I really can’t wear this, Jaskier’s coming tonight for dinner. He won’t have a matching shirt.”

“Yes he will, lad,” Vesemir said, taking a hearty slug of eggnog, which caught in his mustache. “I got him one too.” He gestured to a fourth gift bag, green where the rest had been red, sitting by the hearth. 

“He gets a matching shirt?”

Vesemir hummed cryptically. “I recommend you pop the question before he opens it.” Then he got up and separated his other children, pulling Lambert off by the ear. 

Geralt gulped. 

He loved Jaskier, his boyfriend of four years, and they’d been friends two years before ever dating. He was more comfortable with Jaskier than anyone else, and he was sure that Jaskier was the person he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. But before they could get married, they would have to be engaged. Buying the ring had been the easy part, now Geralt had to, as Vesemir said, pop the question.

He wished he wouldn’t be doing it while wearing a shirt that said ‘I’m with stoopid’ and an arrow pointing up, but tradition was tradition. At least it would make Jaskier laugh. 

By the time Jaskier arrived Lambert was putting the finishing touches on dinner and Eskel had snuck tastes of everything except the stuffing, which Lambert was guarding with a wooden spoon.

“Honey I’m home!” Jaskier called, letting himself in and setting down a carafe and his lute case, Geralt chuckled and kissed him, then stood back and spread his arms wide for Jaskier to admire the shirt. 

Jaskier laughed, head thrown back and eyes sparkling. “I love it,” he said, picking up the carafe of spiced wine he’d brought and walking towards the kitchen. “It suits you.”

“Hey.” Geralt pretended to pout. It was hard to do while smiling.

Jaskier hugged Eskel and kissed Lambert on the cheek, just because it made him grumpy, then hugged Vesemir. 

“Merry Christmas, Dad” he said, and Geralt’s heart melted. Jaskier’s own parents had disowned him, and hearing him call Vesemir dad settled something in his stomach. He was going to ask Jaskier to marry him, and Jaskier wasn’t going to say no (he hoped).

The meaty THWAP of Lambert hitting Eskel with a wooden spoon pulled him from his thoughts. Family, can’t live with ‘em…

They sat down to dinner, Jaskier at Geralt’s side, and Geralt thought he looked a little nervous, but then the expression passed and they all began to eat, giving compliments and insults to Lambert in equal measure. The insults weren’t about the food, which was incredible, but it wouldn’t do to give Lambert a big head. Eskel, getting his PHD in anthropology, and Jaskier getting his in medieval ethnomusicology, chatted at the table. Vesemir caught Geralt’s eye and smiled.

After dinner Vesemir told Eskel and Lambert to clear the table. 

“That’s not fair, you can’t let Geralt off just because Jaskier’s here,” Lambert whined, but Vesemir grabbed him by the ear, again, and towed him into the kitchen, Eskel following.

“Um,” Geralt said, at the same time as Jaskier said, “So.” They smiled awkwardly at one another.

“I don’t really know what to say,” Geralt said, getting down on one knee and pulling out the ring, “but, ‘Will you marry me?’ seems to be the important bit.”

Jaskier stood there. 

Geralt couldn’t read his face. Then it broke into a smile, happy tears leaking from the corner. Jaskier pulled a box from his back pocket and opened it, thrusting it forward. 

A ring.

Geralt looked up at Jaskier’s smile, getting only a glimpse before Jaskier tackled him to the ground in a hug. 

“Yes, Geralt, yes yes a million times yes, I will marry you,” he whispered into Geralt’s neck. He pulled back and looked him in the eyes.

“You bastard you beat me to the proposal.” 

Geralt chuckled and gently took the plain, white gold band from the box and slipped it on his finger, before sliding the little braided gold band onto Jaskier’s. Then he kissed him, on the floor of his childhood living room. 

Applause came and they looked up to see Geralt’s brothers and Vesemir standing in the doorway, watching and smiling. They stood, and Vesemir retrieved the little bag from by the fire place.

“You knew,” Geralt said.

Vesemir nodded. “He asked me for your hand two weeks ago, when you told me you planned to propose on Christmas Eve I thought I’d let it all play out. And this,” he said, giving the bag to Jaskier, “is for you.” 

Jaskier pulled the shirt out and laughed. 

“You’ve got one to match,” Eskel said, and tossed a new shirt to Geralt. 

That year the family photo had Eskel and Lambert, giving each other bunny ears in their ‘I’m with stoopid’ shirts. On the other side were Jaskier and Geralt, in shirts with arrows that pointed to one anothother, saying ‘I’m with stoopid, forever’. And Vesemir sat proudly in the middle, his shirt, a secret until that time, proudly proclaimed. “Hi ‘With Stoopid. I’m Dad.”


End file.
